


What Makes You Beautiful

by sexysigyn



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexysigyn/pseuds/sexysigyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After admitting to feeling insecure, Tom uses his skills to make his significant other feel more secure about herself</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes You Beautiful

            “I wish I was pretty,” I mumbled, watching despondently as another beautiful ingénue captivated the heart of the handsome lead male in the film Tom and I were watching.

            Reaching across me and grabbing the remote, he shut the Blu-Ray player off so the room was lit only by the light of the television screen. “What do you mean, ‘I wish I was pretty?’” he demanded.

            I instantly regretted my words. _Feelings._ I hated talking about my feelings but now I knew I had no choice. He would not let it rest until I explained why I had admitted what I did. “Well, look at her compared to me. She is stunning; blonde, blue eyed, and shaped like a Stradivarius. I’ve got funny red hair, neither auburn nor strawberry blonde, eyes brown as mud, and I’ve seen pumpkins with better shape than I have. Unlike me, she doesn’t have full, ruddy cheeks that force her eyes closed when she smiles. Even her proportions are perfect.” I curled in on myself, focused on my fingers as I picked at the hem of the blanket covering my lap. I was afraid to look up and meet Tom’s eyes knowing the look I would find.

            Climbing over me, he put his feet on the rug and squatted, pulling my hands away from the soft fleece and clasping them in his. “Look at me,” he directed softly. “I want to see your beautiful brown eyes.”

            I raised my gaze, knowing he could see the heaviness of my heart reflected in them. For a second, I just stared, waiting for him to say something. Anything. _“You’re my brown-eyed girl,”_ he sang in a whisper, breaking into a smile that highlighted the crinkles at the corner of his eyes I loved so much.

            Unable to stop myself, I smiled back. “You do know that’s actually a break up song, right? Looking back and reminiscing on the girl he loved and lost?”

            “If you don’t like that one, I know another song,” he offered with a mischievous wink, already rising to his feet.  “It might meet with more approval.”

            “But the only other song about brown eyes that I know of is “ _Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue”_ and that song is sad as hell,” I disagreed, pivoting around as he walked behind the sofa. “And one you probably don’t even know anyway…”

            “Shhhh,” he interrupted, pressing his finger to his lips as he backed down the hallway. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.” Smirking, he snapped his bedroom door shut.

            I didn’t know how this was supposed to boost my morale. Tom was so unfailingly encouraging, a trait in which I knew I was personally deficit. Encouragement was something that I did not get much of growing up and when I did, it was met with distrust. I had been bullied and one tactic my tormentors had used was complimenting me, encouraging me in something, then viciously tearing me down again. The scars had carried into my adult life; I could not accept compliments easily and it was torturous to offer praise. It had also left me with these canyons of self-doubt; so deep were these that I was briefly afraid that he was repaying my lack of uplifting behavior by leaving me high and dry in my moment of crisis. Crying was not a trait I had, not since the peers who warped me with their teasing used my tears against me, but I sniffed at the thought that tonight I was alone with my insecurity. I pursed my lips and turned around, reaching toward the box of Kleenex on the coffee table praying I wouldn’t need it.

           Suddenly the room was filled with a guitar riff blaring through the sound system followed quickly by a hollow cowbell ring. I spun around on the couch, getting to my knees just in time to see Tom slide down the hallway in nothing but his green boxer briefs and socks, my round barrel hair brush in his hand, stray wisps of auburn hair caught in the bristles. _“You’re insecure/don’t know what for. You’re turning heads when you walk through the door-or-or,”_ he sang, swinging his hips wildly. I doubled over the back of the couch, shrieking with laughter. “ _Don’t need makeup/to cover up/being the way that you are is enough-ufff-ufff,”_ he continued in a falsetto, waving his free hand in front of his face before pointing at me. It was obvious I would indeed need that tissue but not from sadness. Without breaking eye contact, he improvised a dance to the lyrics, exaggerating his movements in a comical fashion. Reaching the chorus, he extended his arm toward me, wiggling his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion.

           What did I have to lose? I stood and unbuttoned my shirt, dropping it to the floor. His gyrating slowed for a moment as he watched me strip down to my underwear. Though I owned panties that matched this vivid emerald bra I was wearing, I was not wearing them. I pushed aside the anxiety that I was not wearing a matching set and pulled the plastic clip out of my hair, shaking it out in a cascade of red-gold waves. He was dancing in our living room in his knickers, singing along to a boy band in an effort to cheer me up and he wanted me to join him. The least I could do was give in and prance around naked.

           Wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close, he gazed down on me, his irises the deepest, warmest cerulean blue. _“If only you saw what I could see/you’d understand why I want you so desperately/right now I’m looking at you and I can’t believe/you don’t know-oh-oh you don’t know you’re beautiful!”_  Raising my voice, together we shouted the chorus, Tom tilting the brush toward my face. “ _That’s what makes you beautiful!”_

            As the group transitioned into the second verse, we pranced around the living room, hamming it up as we continued our duet. I made a detour through the kitchen to grab a wooden spoon, jumping out from behind the counter to belt the second chorus into my makeshift microphone. Inspired by his silliness, I let go of my inhibitions. I didn’t care that my boobs were bouncing, threatening to pop out of my bra. My belly and thighs were jiggling in an unseemly way but I didn’t give in to the temptation to cross my arms over my stomach in an attempt to conceal the roll or the stretch marks. I didn’t tie my self-worth to anyone but myself but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the biggest compliment anyone could bestow upon me to have Tom, who I saw as physically close to perfect as possible, look at me and unflinchingly accept each and every flaw I had. We knew each other intimately, inside and out, physically and emotionally and neither of us had been scared away by who we knew the other truly was. Tonight he was appealing to the side of me that loved spontaneity, cheesy music, and dancing to pull me out of my funk before it set to rot.

            By the time the song ended, we were standing in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, our free arms once again encircling each other around the waist, the frolicking mood evaporating into something deeper in the absence of the music. The next song started, a slower, mellower strumming sound than the raucous tune before. “I played by artist on my phone,” he explained somewhat sheepishly as he gently pried the spoon from my hand and tossed it and the brush toward the couch. “But I think this still fits.”

            _“Written in the walls are these stories I can’t explain_ ,” sang one of the boys as Tom whispered the lyrics in my ear, his palm sliding down my forearm and lacing his fingers through mine. Tightening his hold on my waist, we began to slowly rotate to the music.

            “You have more One Direction on your phone than any thirty-three year old man has a right to,” I teased.

            Brushing his nose against mine, I felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled. “The one direction I want to go is straight to the bedroom so I can appreciate you properly.” His lips silenced me before I could say anything in response, tongue tracing along the bottom of my teeth.

            Taking our time, we slow danced down the hall, alternately snogging and adjusting our line of sight to prevent any embarrassing run-ins with the walls.

_The story of my life/I’ll take her home/I’ll drive all night/to keep her warm and tight… the story of my life/I’ll give her hope/I’ll spend her love/until she’s broke inside_

            Lips moving down my jaw to my neck and across my collarbone, he pushed me up against the wall opposite his bed, his teeth trailing down to lick the hollow between my breasts while he unhooked my bra and dragged the straps down my arms, allowing the harness to drop to the floor. My belly contracted when he began sucking on one nipple, cupping the other one and kneading it with his hand. I hiked up my knee and wrapped it around his slip hips, bracing myself with my hands firmly on his shoulders.

            “Know what I love most about your body?” he asked, pulling away from his suckling. “The one aspect that embodies everything I love most about you physically?” He knelt and placed his hands square on my wide hips, leaving a trail of kisses from my breasts down my belly to where he hooked one finger on each hand between my skin and the waistband of my underwear.

            “Everything?” I offered. “Damn well better be everything.”

            “I love that I can _feel_ you when I hold you in my arms.”

            “I should be insulted by that but…”

            “I can feel your strength when you are strong. I can support you when you are weak. I can feel,” he continued, running a finger between my legs, taunting me through the damp seat of my panties. “When you want me.” Slipping his long digit under the seam, he fingered my slit as his tongue traced along the marks that marred the skin.

            “Please, no, don’t do that,” I urged. I did not like the fact that he was paying such overt attention to the ugly stripes that lashed across my stomach to my hips. Dancing in the living room I could ignore them despite being clad only in base garments. Now with them the focus of his attention, I wanted to turn away, to hide.

            Taken aback, he stopped. “Why? I love these things that make you who you are, unique and individual. Like a leaf: in the bloom of your life and there is no other one the same as you.”

            “How in the hell can you be so fuckin’ poetic about stretch marks?” I questioned, my voice sharper than I meant. “Forgive me. I’m just…” I trailed off, voice catching in my throat. He didn’t deserve to be snapped at like that. It was in no way fair for me to take out my insecurity on him when the only thing he wanted to do was display his love for me. His love for ALL of me. “You’re too perfect.”

            “Then we are well matched because you are perfect. Perfect for me.” He stood and crushed my mouth with his, cradling my face as I tasted the sweetness of his tongue as he probed my mouth, his teeth grazing my lower lip. I did not protest when he moved toward the bed, leaning forward so that I bent at the knees, taking a seat on the edge. Lips moving further and further south, he nudged my knees apart, tips of his fingers dancing up the inside of my thighs. I lifted my body up just long enough for him to pull my knickers off. “You move through life in a cloud of perfume but this… this is the most intoxicating scent. All you and it’s only for me.”

            I gasped when I felt his warm breath tickle my folds, heightening my anticipation. One arm extended behind me, rigidly supporting my torso, I clutched at his hair, gasping as his tongue flicked my clit, sucking and licking my engorged labia. My head lolled backward as I clenched around the fingers he inserted into my pussy, pumping them in time to the sharp breaths that escaped from between my teeth. I didn’t want to come, not yet, but with every lap of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers, I was moving closer and closer to release. The strength in my arm failed and I fell back onto the bed, crying out to the stark white ceiling above me. Determined to finish me, he wound his arms under and around my thighs, upping his attack on my cunt. I shuddered and came around his fingers, my body going limp as a ragdoll.

           Kissing his way back up my body, Tom smoothed back the strands of hair plastered to my sweaty forehead. It was his turn for some gratification; as he straightened his form beside me, pulling me onto my side to face him, I outlined the muscles of his abdomen as my fingers meandered down toward his underwear. “No, tonight is about you,” he admonished, grabbing my wrist.

           “Bringing you pleasure makes me happy. I never feel more like a woman than when I know I am driving you wild,” I protested, pressing my forehead to his. “Like now. I can tell you are aching to feel my hand clasp around your cock.” He did not restrain me when I broke the hold he had on my wrist, my hand continuing its journey downward. He was already half hard when I slid my hand between his skin and underwear, feeling his wiry hair as I curled my fingers around his shaft; working him at a steady pace, I could feel him harden beneath my palm, the sound of his groans increasing with every stroke.

            Guiding him onto his back, I rolled with him, straddling him. His hooded eyes popped open as I rubbed my slit over him, stimulating my swollen clit. “Shit darling,” he moaned, head falling back onto the duvet. Bucking hips, chest heaving, peering at me from half-closed eyes… the control I had over him in that moment was empowering. It always was. During the day, I could wear my self-possession like clothing but I was never so confident as in these moments, when all the hubris I put between myself and the cruel world was set aside and I was laid bare before the man who made it a priority to make me feel beautiful.

           “Hold your horses, love. I’m nowhere near done with you.” I repositioned myself between his calves and bent forward, licking the precum off his tip. Maintaining eye contact, I slowly took him in my mouth, circling my tongue around his cock. Lost in the sensation, he pulled at my hair as I bobbed up and down, one hand gently squeezing his balls as I sheathed any part of his shaft not in my mouth with the other. I worked him, alternating between fast, swift strokes of my hand and longer, the longer, languid rolling of my tongue on the underside of his length, until his hips were rearing off the bed, forcing himself deeper in my throat.

           Covering my hand with his, he pried it off his member, occupying it instead by carding his fingers through mine. “I need you,” he whispered in a husky voice as he sat up. Still on my knees, he pulled me closer to him, slipping his other arm around my waist. I used my free hand to guide him to my entrance and lowered myself onto him, feeling my canal stretch to accommodate him. Our eyes met and held, unblinking, as our bodies joined. “There is no place that feels more like home than when I am inside you.” 

           I had no response. I was too full of not just him but love. Emotion. Seasoned by the salt of the tear that was sliding down my cheek, I silenced him with a kiss. We found our pace quickly; holding each other tightly, cheek to cheek, panting into one another’s ear, I moved up and down in his lap as he pumped his hips. It was a natural progression when I pulled him with me as I laid back, using my legs to hold him fast inside me. Thrust for thrust we were matched, our strangled moans and half-coherent words of ecstasy encouraging our movements. Propelling himself faster, harder, deeper inside me, his thrusts grew more inconsistent. I concentrated on remembering to breathe, to keep my eyes open so I could see his face at the moment he emptied his seed into me, the way he bared his teeth and how tight the tendons in his neck were as he tossed his head back, shouting upward- to the ceiling or to God, I did not know. At the last moment I lost my struggle, clawing at the back of his neck as I reached my own orgasm, shuddering with him as he made his final push into my body.

             “When was the last time I told you I love you?” he panted, kissing my forehead. We were on our sides, a mess of limp, tangled limbs. I was covered in a clammy sweat, made all the more uncomfortable by the fact my waist length hair was no longer precariously held in place by its clip and was sticking to my back and neck. Black eyeliner and mascara, smeared from sweat and tears, most likely marred the porcelain skin of my face, already ruddy with the flush of lovemaking. Yet Tom was looking at me like I was the only woman in the history of the world to have ever existed.

            “Not recently enough.”

            “Let me remind you then. _I love you._ ” Satisfied completely, he pressed his lips to mine, holding them there for a few seconds. “Don’t ever forget it.”

            I ignored the sticky sweat on my body and the heavy, still air in the room. _What made me beautiful?_ I saw the answer more clearly than before, even in my moments of confidence. I was beautiful because of _ME._ I did not need to look like someone else to be beautiful. Just by being who I was, owning my flaws and insecurities, someone who loved me as much as I did would come along. Glancing back at Tom’s face, peaceful as he drifted to sleep, I knew he had.

 

_Playlist:_

_“What Makes You Beautiful”- One Direction_

_“Story of My Life”- One Direction_

_“Unconditionally”- Katy Perry_

_“She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful”- Sammy Kershaw_

 

 


End file.
